


Could you be A Devil, Could You Be an Angel?

by causalsilence (theaccidentalhipster)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Celebrity/Fan, Conventions, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Cuddling and Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Domination, F/M, Fingerfucking, Role Playing, Semi-Public Sex, Stranger Sex, Whipping, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:16:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaccidentalhipster/pseuds/causalsilence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fan at a convention gets a little more than she bargained for when attending a Supernatural convention, after a awkward first meeting she discovers that one celebrity has been playing a few games with her- it appears however, she is more than inept at beating him at his own game. Set over the 3 nights of the convention she drives our little Misha Collins wild trying to work out who she is, with steamy encounters in between.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Devil or Angel?

**Author's Note:**

> So, yes- anyone who follows me on Tumblr will know that I'm going to Asylum 8 for one Misha Collins and recently I've been having *cough* rather sexual dreams concerning this man, so I put them all together into one long, essentially smut fic, so yes, enjoy!

Could you be A Devil, Could You Be an Angel?

  


** FRIDAY NIGHT **

A final look in the mirror confirmed that she did indeed look, acceptable. A knee high, corseted ,red dress emphasized her short, but curvaceous body, with her slim legs ending in black high heels, the red swirls upon it matching the red and black masked that covered the majority of her tanned face. Only her eyes a deep brown, with black feathery fake eyelashes and her red lips were visible from the Venetian style, that curled from her nose all the way to her hairline with hung in loose brown waves around the crown of her head.

 

Stepping from her room, she closed the door, and walking directly into the solid chest of a black suited man, falling to the floor with a bump. She immediately stood upwards, a glower crossing her pretty features along with a tinge of pink, silencing any word of apology that threatened to form on the man’s lips and her eyes giving him the definite ‘fuck you’ message.

 

 In her embarrassment and anger she stalked (wobbled due the recent fall to the ground- in high heels no less) down the corridor, very aware of the man’s eyes boring into her as she walked away. Only as she reached the lift did she realize how rude she’d been and she turned to apologize, only to find that the man had disappeared-into his room presumably.

 

A sigh passed her lips as she stepped into the lift, and she gently lent her head against the lift’s padded wall. What a great way to end the convention, she thought to herself.

**

The Heaven and Hell Masquerade Ball, despite being amongst the most clichéd themes party for a Supernatural convention, turned out to be not quite as shit as she’d expected it to be- for the first party night, people had decided to come out in force with their costumes and angels, devils and all the people in between had all been represented and after a few drinks the party had morphed into the typical drunken relaxed setting, with a few slightly over the top girls dancing with each other in the centre, halos and wings either askew or discarded on table, drinks in hand, and heads tilted backwards.

 

She smiled, taking a sip of her drink as a man was pushed next to her, jostling some of the precious liquid over her shoes and thankfully avoiding her new red dress. Her eyes flickered upwards and a familiar, having walked into it earlier in the evening, black chest appeared in her view and brilliant deep blue eyes turned, boring into hers from beneath a plain black mask.

 

A smile crossed his tanned and stubble crossed lips and despite herself, she found a similar expression crossing her own features.

 

“We’re making a habit of _bumping_ into one another aren’t we.” he whispered, leaning in so she caught a waft of his expensive smelling aftershave and the toothpaste that he had used earlier. His voice was soft against the booming music that filtered from the music system in the corner and she caught a hint of an American accent teasing against his lips.  In reply she merely raised her glass to her lips, drinking the final dregs of her cocktail, allowing her head to tip backwards to reveal her lean and elegant neck.

 

Straightening upwards, her eyes flashed upwards to meet his now almost jet black blue ones, running her fingers over her lips and pulling the final drops of alcohol from it, finishing the effect with a heart-stopping smile.  His Adams apple bobbed in his throat as he gulped, shifting somewhat in his originally solid stance.

 

“What..” he begins, his voice at least three octaves higher than what it had been before, forcing another smile to come to her face. He clears his throat, his eye dropping to his feet.

 

“What are you drinking there?” he manages to stammer out, a few moments later.  She tsk’s at her now empty class, raising her dark eyebrows.

 

“I _was_ drinking a Fallen Angel, getting into character you know... but it appears that most of it has now been plastered across my shoes’ she says, bumping her hip slightly into his. Clearly she’s drunker than previously realized. ‘Not that I mind, I didn’t pay for it and frankly it was fucking disgusting’ she finishes in her lightly accented voice. His eyes sparkle as they watch her mouth form the words.

 

“Where is that remarkable accent from?” he breaths.  She moves inwards, her cheek almost resting on his shoulder with their closeness.

 

‘From, well, everywhere really... I was born in Ireland, moved to Wales to be closer to family, before settling in the South East. But you are clearly not from around here Mr?’ Leaning in slightly closer to hear her better, he extends a hand.

 

‘Ferris. Justin Ferris, I’m from Texas, over for the convention... obviously’ he says gesturing to the mask and the people around them. The name echoes softly at the back of her mind like a forgotten memory, and her brow furrows grasping at the thought as it attempts to escape her grasp.  However, she lightly takes his hand, gripping it tightly.

 

‘Morgan Lafrie. My parents had an odd sense of humour when it came to naming me’ she chuckles, letting her hand drop to her side once they’d parted. Shit, she’s flirting, why she is flirting, she’s terrible at flirting, especially with beautiful foreign men who she flipped the visual finger at a few mere hours earlier.

 

However, he laughs politely and continues to gaze at her as if she was going to disappear, causing another blush to creep across her features.

 

‘And considering that you are the reason why my Fallen Angel now covers my shoes, I think I’ll go for a Dirty White Russian.’ She whispers, moving back an iota. A laugh escapes his mouth and he chuckles inexplicably, causing her brow to furrow once more.

 

“A dirty vite Russian coming up’ he lisps back in a faux Russian accent motioning for the bar-tender. Another memory whispers in the back of her mind and her eyes narrow in confusion as she tries to place from where and why she remembers it.. And it was there when there perfect little world seemed to fall apart.

 

“Fuck me! It’s Castiel!” an inexplicably loud and obnoxious voice shrieked from behind her and Justin was dragged around to face a drunken, blonde slutty angel, who proceeded to drag him into her ample chest and continue to scream at her friend to take a picture of them.

 

She dragged the slutty angel of Justin, and pushed her away from the poor man. His mask had come un-lodged in the process of being pressed against the blonde’s boobs and she could see the face that had stared out at her from many an episode of Supernatural. His eyes shined in pain as she took a step backwards, directly into the line of a huge bodyguard and..

 

‘SAM! It’s Sam!” the blonde who had grabbed ‘Justin’ shrieked as a tall unmasked man walked over to the man who continued to watch She as he fixed his mask back to his face, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder . The body-guard placed himself between the two men and the squealing fans, his eyes turning steely as he focused on She and the other women.

 

“Would you like me to remove them Mr Collins?” he said motioning to both the drunken, slutty angels and She.  Jus- no, Misha turned, his mask now fully off turned to face her just as she tilted her head and disappeared into the dancing masses.

 

**

Half an hour later and she had, had enough of sitting dejectedly; murmuring about her stupidity, so she made her excuses and decided to make her exit from the party.  Walking from the hotels dancing room, kicking off her shoes and carrying them in her hand as she wandered through the hotel lobby.

 

Suddenly, her name was being called and upon turning she saw the man that she wanted to see the least in the world.

 

“Fuck off ‘Justin’.” She hissed, turning and heading towards the lifts to get back to her room. Footsteps padded towards her and a hand was suddenly on her arm.

 

“Morgan, let me explain.” He whispered his beautiful face and voice back to normal. Her eyes flashed to his hand on her arm.

 

“Misha, please- remove- your-hand.” she said slowly, her eyes roaming back upwards towards his face. She didn’t dare look into the depths of his brilliant deep blue eyes.

 

‘I didn’t tell you who I was because I’m fed up of people talking to me with such expectations. They expect this quirky, strange man, and you didn’t recognise me in the hall or the bar and I simply played along-‘he stopped as her hand collided with his face and he jerked backwards, his hand flying to his face.

 

“You have no clue- how- embarrassed and shameful- I felt realizing I was talking to you. The way your bodyguard just brushed me aside and...’ angry tears welled up in her eyes and she turned on her heel, running and slipping into the lift as it pinged open. Jabbing at the close door button, you stand in the centre of the lift, watching the door begin to, thankfully, shut.

 

Her relief is short lived, as a hand, slams between the closing doors, revealing a red faced, eyes glinting, Misha, who forces himself into the lift as it closes behind him. His chest heaves, and a bead of sweat travels down his face from the sudden burst of energy that it took him to get to the lift in time.

 

‘Cannot you not even see where I was coming from? The first chance in a long time to just, be myself with someone- “But you weren’t yourself! You were bloody, _Justin Ferris_ from _Texas,_ not Misha Collins from Boston, just an actor using his character from NCIS’s name!’ she interjected, hissing out what she’d realized during her time moping in the party.

 

‘Ah, but everything else that was me... That man who you flirted with, the man you flirted back at you, the man’ his hand moved to her face whilst the other pulled her closer to him without resistance. ‘who thought you were the most beautiful woman in that room’. His mouth moved closer to hers, that smell of aftershave with the new addition of whiskey infiltrating her senses, as his breath moved across her lips.

 

Her hand came up to reach into his hair, a smile crossed her lips as his eyes widened and his lips were brought down to meet hers.  It was a short, sweet kiss, with both parties eyes shut, bodies pressed together.

 

Their lips parted, their bodies still locked in their positions. Misha’s forehead touched against hers, his breath still whishing across her nose and face, his eyes semi-closed. Her hand came up to touch his neck, and his eyes met hers, his pulse pounding beneath her fingers as his pupils blowed before her eyes and his breath quickened.

 

With a quick push she was backed into the padding of the lift, his mouth on hers deeper and fiercer than before, and his hands scooping around her waist to allow him closer access to her body. Her small sharp teeth bit his lip ever so slightly making the man emit a soft growl in the back of his throat, moving his lips towards her neck and imitating the soft nips along the porcelain swan-like neck that had commanded his attention for the majority of the evening, in between soft peppered kisses.

 

She moaning, her head falling backwards, and her back arching pushing her hips into his, rolling them against his now prominent erection, causing another more pained groan to escape Misha’s mouth.

 

The door pinged open to their floor, and a gasped ‘I say’ reached their ears, before they heard footsteps hastily retreating. Both turned, seeing an elderly couple walking as quickly as possible towards the other lift, avoiding the sight that had greeted them upon Lift A opening. She chuckled as Misha’s shocked and amused eyes met hers and a moment passed where the entwined bodies vibrated against one another’s. Misha rested his head against her now partially exposed breast that were still rocking with laughter.

 

‘So’ she whispered, her breath hitching in her chest as Misha turned those eyes on her. ‘Yours or mine?’ A smile was her only reply.

 

**

They managed to keep their hands each of each other in the few feet between the lift and Misha’s room. As soon as the door clicked shut, Misha’s hands were back in her hair, all over her body, hands roaming over her thighs and waist, the man seems to have a thousand hands. 

 

Some of the pressure on hers ribs was lifted; he was unfastening the ribbons of the corset while they kissed, clearly much more adept at releasing the ribbons than she was at fastening them earlier in the evening. The bodice begins to slip and his mouth replaces the warmth of the cotton as he presses kisses against the creamy white skin that he continues to reveal as his fingers fumble at the dresses fastenings.

 

Eventually, the dress is completely off, wrenched down and thrown aside to a corner of the room as if it had committed a crime against Misha, and his mouth moved back to her skin, licking and sucking until he reaches the red lace knickers that were soaking wet and did nothing to disguise the arousal that she was feeling.  He continued his path, her head pressing against the wall of the hotel, her breath coming in short puffs as his hands continue its exploration of her very receptive body.

 

Misha’s attention shifted, moving her hands up her thighs, pushing her legs apart and running a finger across her the hem of her knickers. She moaned her almost naked body pressing backwards into the wall as his fingers slip up underneath it, along the inside of her thigh. The pressure alleviates and her eyes fly down to meet his devilish expression.

 

“Your wet.” He states matter of fact, with the smallest hint of amusement in his voice. Her breath continues to catch in her chest as he slides her lace knickers down her thighs as he moved his lips upwards to place a kiss on the top of her thigh.

 

“Are you wet because of me Miss Lafrie?” he mumbles against her thigh, it’s barely a question at all, his voice only making her wetter as her legs quiver in response. He draws his fingers upwards between her labia, each fingertip brushing against her clit, engorged and obvious at the top.

 

He stops his travelling fingers, making a pained whine come to her lips.

 

“I said are, you wet because of me Morgan LaFrie?” he continues, his eyes darkening and his voice deepening as she continues to arch into him, desperate for his touch.

 

“Yes Misha!” she finally manages to gasp, her legs continuing to shake as the fails to contain her excitement. Her reward is his free hand moving to cup her thigh, moving it onto his shoulder and two of his long fingers sliding into her, she gasps rocking down onto them, the desperation showing on her face.

 

His tongue immediatly finds her clit and begin applying gentle pressure, moving in small circles as his long fingers stroke in and out of her, twisting and caressing, finding the places that make her wantonly moan and gasp his name, her back arching into the wall.

 

Finally, he crooks his fingers inside her, as he begins stroking her in the perfect place. She comes, her body jerking and shuddering as she breathes his name, his arm encircles her take most of her weight to ensure that she doesn’t end in a boneless mess on the floor.

 

Within a second, he shoots upwards; covering her lips with his, her hands grasping at his hair, pulling the sweat covered tresses as his tongue infiltrates her mouth, allowing her to taste her own juices on his tongue and in his mouth. She kisses him deeply, moaning breathless sighs when their lips separate before placing her fingers on his lips and pushing him slightly away.

 

 His eyes meet hers, wide and obviously aroused, his pupils blown only leaving a small sliver of the deep blue around the ridges.

 

‘Fuck me Misha.’ She whispers, directly in his ear, pressing kisses along his jaw-line, feeling the stubble that always graced his face prickling her lips, as her hands work his buttons and belt, pushing his clothes from his body in the same instant. Her legs locked around his waist, and he pushed his arms around her back, spinning her and moving her to the bed.

 

They fell in a sweaty pile into the soft sheets, his mouth roaming over her body, over her breasts before he manoeuvred between her thighs, lifting her legs once again to wrap around his hips and using his body to spread her legs to accommodate him. She clawed for the couch, grasping for purchase and trying to steady herself as he grabbed his cock, sliding himself over her core, teasing her. She began to writhe under his attentions, stifling a loud moan that threatened to erupt from her.

 

He slammed into her suddenly but slowly and steadily, his hips pivoting as he moved to reach deeper, his hands entwined around her back to steady her for the onslaught. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself tightly against his body, her breasts rubbing against his naked chest, groaning at the friction it created.

 




 

She came with a loud cry of his name, figuratively shattering against his body before falling limp. Grabbing her tighter in his arms, he clutched her to his chest for several last powerful thrusts before reaching his completion, moaning in her ear.  

 

Her hand came up to brush his against his sweat tinged cheekbones, her fingertips feeling the lightest flutter of his eyelashes against them. It slipped down to his chest, placing her hand directly over his heart which pounded for her and her alone. A large manly hand came up to entwine with her fingers, bringing it to his lips and gently kissing each fingertip, his eyes shut and his breath still coming in soft puffs.

 

His lips then moved across her face, slowly pressing kisses along her jaw-line before he met her lips once more in a gentle and heart warming kiss, that sent butterflies to her stomach. With that, he un-entwined their bodies, shifting so that his naked form was pressed into her back, his arm spread across her chest and hip as he pulled the covers up and over them, his other hand directly above her own heart, feeling the echoed throb in her own chest.

 

She nestled against him, her head lying in the crook of his neck, the ties of the mask that she still wore brushing against his cheek. Misha felt his eyes dropping in that comfortable position, and gripping her tighter against him fell into a deep warm sleep.

 

When he awoke however, ‘Morgan’ was gone.


	2. A Study in Domination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday Night of the Convention and our girl is now playing Misha at his own game. I have slightly stolen the characteristics and look of Irene Adler from BBC's Sherlock by Irene Adler.

  


A Study in Domination

Misha surveyed the scene before him as for the second time in two nights he wandered into the dance hall that hosted the themed parties that the event planners had come up with for that night; this nights, the character that represented you, from any fandom. He still wasn’t quite sure he knew what a fandom was, but the array of characters that met his eyes was enough to make anyone gape beneath their masked face.

 

Yes, he’d taken the easier case out, and had gone with another masked character, subtly hiding his identity whilst he searched for- _her_.  The beautiful creature that had inhabited, warmed and then abandoned his bed the night previously, Morgan, or not as the case may be.

 

From the corner of his eye, a jet black streak caught his eye and he headed towards it, sidling up to the bar to be next to her.

 

“I checked the attendance listing, there’s no Morgan Lefrie on there..” he purred in his characters voice, deepening and leaning into the woman’s personal space. The woman span, her bright green and very wrong eyes widening as she backed away from him.

He muttered his apologies, and turned to come face to face with smug lips and the masked grinning face of one ‘Morgan Lefrie’, seated carefully pulling the cherry from her cupcake and placing it between her lips and biting it off.

 

“Hmm, I suppose I’ll have to be a bit more careful with the men I pick up in darkened rooms-  maybe one’s without access to the guest list..’ she drawled, now playing with the icing that topped her vibrant green cupcake. She swirled it around her finger, bring it to her lips before sucking the sweet substance from red painted fingernails.

 

‘Zorro?’ she stated twitching a perfectly arched eyebrow, whilst her lips spread into a smile. Misha felt his cock twitch in his trousers as he finally took in what the woman before him was wearing. Her legs naked bar tights were crossed, ending in black patent high heels, partially covered by the long navy trench coat and where the folds met, he could see her small waist corseted even smaller and containing her soft breasts that must have still bore his mark.

 

‘I’m Irene Adler, by the way _darling_ ’ she hummed in her posh upper-class accent, reaching for her champagne class. She surveyed him over the class as she moved her right leg further upwards, revealing the garters which held the leather whip strapped to her thigh.

 

He swallowed, his trousers getting tighter as an image of him peeling the garters down her legs with his teeth flashed into his mind.

 

Reaching down as quickly as lightning, she removed the whip from its holdall and took a step towards him, placing the whip on his lips.

 

 ‘The dominatrix, _the_ woman’ she finished separating the soft pillowed structures with the point of the leather. He caught her hand in his, quirking an eyebrow in resistance.

 

‘Last night, you told me off for lying to you- for pretending to be someone I wasn’t and the whole time..’ he was silenced by her hand replacing the whip on his face.

 

‘Darling, do you not know what dominatrix’s do?’ she tutted, moving his cheek to look at the partially covered bite that she’d placed on his neck the night before.

 

‘They- _beat_ -you.’ she breathed, her lips now inches from his. His lips moved into a smirk as he moved inwards, pressing her hot mouth to his.

 

**

This time, they didn’t even make it to Misha’s hotel room, instead they pulled, clawed and manipulated one another to the disabled toilets, both of their clothes nearly off as Misha was pushed onto the toilet as ‘Irene’ locked the toilet and turned to face him a look of pure devilment on her face.

 

‘Your trousers. Take it off now’ she whispered, huskily, her chest heaving, but the statement definitely a command rather than a question.

 

A gasp erupted at Misha’s lips, doing exactly as he was told, wrenching, almost ripping, and the trousers from his body. Letting it drop to the floor, his eye flickered up to look at her. Irene on the other hand, was watching him absent-mindedly, her hip cocked and her whip held lazily in one hand.

 

Her eyes flickered to his, surveying him properly, - _Jesus_ , those eyes – and began to travel downwards and back up again. When they met Misha’s again, his skin went chilly, sweat prickling to the surface.

 

‘Pants as well.’  She continued, looking down at him as if he was something at the bottom of her shoe.  His shaking hands slipped under the waistband of his underwear his eyes never leaving hers, a small gasp leaving his lips as his cock springed free in the cool air of the bathroom.

 

She tipped her head back, slightly. “Touch yourself.” She whispered, her eyes clouding slightly as she watched him place his left hand lightly on top of his left thigh, before wrapping his right hand firmly around his cock.  He spread his legs a little and biting his bottom lip briefly as he looked at her, his eyes bright, wide blue and asking for permission.

 

A curt nod was his reply.

 

 “Oh,” he sighed, his perfect lips opening slightly as he gently stroked himself a few times as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the porcelain of the toilet wall.

 

“God, yeah,” he said, head still tipped back as he stroked slowly. A cracked whip across the tiles in the room stunned him from his pleasure, and he jerked forward in shock, stopping his actions.

 

‘You do not speak unless spoken to.’ She said slowly, her voice soft but commanding. Misha’s eyes continued widening, before flickering down to his still grasped cock in his hand.

 

‘You may continue.’ She said in reply.  Misha continued in his actions, his teeth coming out to bite his lips and stop the groans and curses that threatened to escape his mouth.

 

“How does it feel?” ‘Irene’ asked, to the slowly moving man who had slid to the floor before her. A gasp of curses, groans and moans was her only reply. Another crack of a whip startled him from his stupor and he tipped his head forward.

 

‘So fucking good.’ He managed to gasp out.

 

“Don’t look away,” she ordered. “ _Look at me.”_ He strained to open, did so, his baby blues boring into the dark brown eyes of the woman standing over him. He whined.

 

‘Please, Morgan’ the crack of the whip made his eyes slam shut again ‘Irene, whatever the fuck your name is- please.’ The crack of the whip this time didn’t come, and he heard her slip to the floor in front of him. Her hand brushed over his cheek, and her lips were next to his ear.

 

What are you thinking about?” she whispered gently and his eyes fluttered closed again.

 

“You,” he breathed. Her hands curled over his, joining him in his pumping action, causing his teeth to appear on his lips once more. ‘Last night. The way you tasted. Your tongue in my mouth, your face as you breathed my name as you came in my arms.”

 

One hand reached to tangle in his hair, pulling his mouth to hers in a passionate kiss that would leave his mouth puffy almost bruised in the morning, his thrusts into their entwined hands becoming more powerful and erratic as his control began to slip.

 

Suddenly, he felt her hands move away as she batted his hands away. A pained whine escaped his throat at the loss of friction, morphing into a moan as she bent down and licked up the underside of his cock, starting at the base and moving oh so slowly to the top where she teased his foreskin with her tongue.  Her hands went to the back of his legs, raking her fingernails up and down his finely muscled thighs, causing Misha to moan in anticipation, putting his hands anywhere and everywhere, attempting to steady himself as she slowly teased him, touching and caressing everywhere except where he needed it most.

Her hands come to his waist, digging her fingers into his hip bone as her mouth continues her movements, the perfect mix between pain and pleasure, she pulls away completely for a second, looking up at him from beneath hooded eyes before taking him back into her mouth, making an elicit and loud moan erupt from his throat.

‘God,” he whispers, closing his eyes as she drags her nails across his hip-bone a little harder, “god, god, oh god,” and finally he releases into her mouth in short, hot spurts, which she swallows down, her eyes never leaving him for a second.

She pushes herself upwards on his shoulders, her hands locked behind his back as she sears his mouth in a red hot kiss, her tongue in his mouth, making him taste every ounce of his essence on her lips.

She withdraws, smiling in triumph as Misha stares up at her, hair ruffled, lipstick smeared over his swollen lips, boxers around his ankles, looking utterly debauched and well and thoroughly handcuffed to the toilet. He shakes his chains, looking up at her in alarm. She slips into her coat, buttoning it over lingerie and smirks at him.

“Until we meet again Mr Collins.” She whispers, unbolting the door and slipping into the party they’d abandoned earlier. Misha gives a boneless pull on the chains, before laying his sweaty head on the cool porcelain of the toilet.

“Fucking hell” he whispers under his breath.


	3. The Face that Launched a Thousand Ships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter, and Misha and she finally sort things out.

The Face that Launched a Thousand Ships

“Now, that’ Misha breathed in her ear, as he wrapped his arms around ‘Irene? Morgan?’s waist. ‘Was not very nice thing you did last night..’. Her mouth fell open as she leant backwards into his embrace, and pressing her arse against his hips, causing an ‘oh’ to vibrate through her ear and her body.

‘And what did I do last night?’ she whispered back, spinning in his arms so that her brown eyes met his almost black ones. She smiled, an amused glint appearing in her eyes.

He took a step closer; putting a hand either side of her against the wall, and leaning in that his lips hovered over her and her body was pinned by his.

‘You, left me, half-naked in the disabled toilet of a Supernatural convention where a fan would eventually come in and see me, scream in excitement and eventually bring every attendee into said toilet. The pictures are now all over the internet.’ He said huskily, pressing her closer into the wall.

‘Really? I had no clue that would happen’ she whispered back in mock upset. His eyes turned black as she turned her face down at him, looking up at him through her eyelashes, whilst her teeth bit her lips. 

The defiant look reappeared in her eyes and she cocked an eyebrow at him.

‘Or maybe I wanted the other girls to experience a titbit of what I discovered this weekend.’ She said, standing on her toes, her heels lifting out of her high heels. His eyes grew softer, and he almost looked at her in pity.

“Are you truly still angry at me for pretending to be someone else?” he whispered gently, toying with a piece of her curly hair, running his thumb over the cotton of her mask. “That you won’t show me the real you?” 

Her face dropped, and a sad look appeared in those big brown eyes.

‘No’ she began, the word more sighing that speech. ‘I’m not angry anymore, I’m afraid you won’t like the real me’ she said slowly before resting her head against his chest.

His hands rested in her hair, smoothing through them, and his lips planted a kiss on the silky tresses.

‘How, could I not like the real you?’ he murmured against her hair. She shrugged, her shoulders shaking slightly. He moved away from her, holding his hand out in invitation.  Behind him, a soft acoustic version of a familiar song was playing.

‘You're from a whole other world. A different dimension’

Gently, she took his hand, allowing him to spin her inward, her arm wrapping around her waist as they gently swayed to the music in their corner of the room. His mouth moved to her ear, and as she lifted her head to his lips he whispered/sung the lyrics in her ear.

‘Kiss me, ki-ki-kiss me. Infect me with your love and fill me with your poison’

The whole world, music and all, melted away for a moment, as with eyes gently shutting and head tilting, her lips met his. Misha took immediate control and placed his hands on her hips, pulling her closer into his embrace as her soft lips moved in response to his. He moved away, his forehead pressing against hers, his breath ghosting against hers and his nose inches from hers. 

Somehow, it was far more intimate than anything else they’d shared in the last 3 nights. 

‘You’re leaving tomorrow.’ she muttered, her lips brushing over his at her words. He blinked, his eyes falling sadly, opening his mouth to speak but silenced by her fingertips brushing over them.

“You, you go back to America in the morning, and me, I go back to London, to a world where I’m completely invisible’ she said, her head dropping. Misha nodded sadly, his hand brushing over her arm, causing goose bumps to appear in his path.

‘We both go back to a world where we can’t be together.’ She said, half to convince herself, half to make him realize. He nodded again, tears forming in his eyes. She moved from his embrace, her fingers staying entwined in his.

She lowered her head, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand before moving totally away, blinking tears from her eyes.

‘Goodbye Misha’ she whispered, before for the 3rd time in 3 days she disappeared into the party. She ran until she reached the lobby, ducking into a nearby enclave, letting her head fall backwards onto the wall.

She heard no-one run after her, no-one calling any of the names she had given during the weekend. It was here she let the tears finally fall.

..

Helen was awoken in her tiny London flat on Tuesday morning by the sound of a buzzer reverberating through practically the whole building. Her elderly neighbour, knocked on her floor voicing her protest of being disturbed from her watching Daybreak. Helena banged right back, silencing the old coot immediately.

She shrugged on a dressing gown, and slip/slid from her bedroom to the door. It rang again urgently, the bell ringing for well over a few seconds. Mrs Gudry banged on her floor again.

‘Two seconds’ she said to both people, one hammering on the door and the other now screaming through their thin ceiling. Scrabbling at the lock, she wrenched it open and felt her mouth almost drop onto the floor.

There, on her doorstep, hair plastered to his head by the rain that fell in the street outside, and surrounded by the London traffic was the one man she never thought she’d see again. Words caught in her throat as his smile broke across his features.

‘Morgan Lefrie.’ He whispered, chuckling as he took a step towards the woman. ‘You told me on the first night we met that your parents had a funny sense of humour when they named you’. She only managed to gape at him, her eyes not truly believing he was there.

‘Or is it Irene Adler? The dominatrix, who beat Sherlock Holmes, who lived on- ‘he peered outside where the street name Baker Street sang cheerily from the wall. A smile quirked at her lips.

‘Hello Helena Troya’ he whispered, his hand coming up to cup her un-made up, unmasked but stunningly beautiful face. 

‘The face that launched a thousand ships’ he said gently, as she pressed her warm cheek into his ice cold hand, enclosing his fingers over his. His eyebrow quirked suddenly, and a chuckle vibrated through his chest. 

‘Or, the face that stopped a plane journey as the case may be’ he laughed. Her eyes sparkled and crinkled as she laughed with him. His face fell serious as she smiled up at him.

‘You were telling me who you were ,every time we met’ she quirked her lips and raised her eyebrows.

“What’s life without a few riddles, a few gam-“she hmmed, in alarm as Misha’s mouth captured hers, catching her words before she even said them. Once more, the world seemed to melt and nothing mattered, except Misha’s lips on her, those were oh so soft and perfectly formed. Her hand reached upwards, brushing over the muscles of his abdomen before hooking into the waistband of his wet jeans.

He gasped into her mouth at the brush of warm contact over his ice cold skin. 

She hmmed again, this time in amusement as she felt his erection begin to tent as she brushed her fingertips further down his skin.

‘No use staying in those wet clothes.’ She mused slowly, her eyes flying upwards to meet his, before pulling him t-shirt first into her bedroom. Mrs Gudry can yell all she wants she thinks to herself.

..

Misha lay beside Helena, his hand brushing over her face, watching her chest move slowly up and down in the slightest of movements. Her hand is splayed across his chest, absent mindedly brushing her fingers across the skin there.

‘What now?’ she suddenly whispers, her face tilting upwards. Misha sunk further down the bed, resting his head on her pillow. The hand that was on his chest moved to his hair gently mussed the black tresses.

‘You said we couldn’t be together, I ask, why not?’ he ponders in reply. She hmms, the vibration going through both their bodies.

‘You’re a famous American actor, who works mainly in Canada,. I on the other hand, am an ex-student, who hasn’t worked at any job with any real relevance since her waitressing job whilst in university has a useless degree and who has been stubbornly single since about the time of the waitressing.’ She tilted her head upwards, her nose inches from his.

‘Where do you want to start?’ she whispered. Misha sighed, leaning on his elbow.

‘America and Canada.. that the best you got, there is such a thing as aeroplanes now you know. And why on earth would you being unemployed make me not want to be with you.’ He says chuckling. She however, whines in frustration, diving under the covers to create a small lump in the sheets.

‘Your family. Your friends.’ She mutters, looking up from beneath the covers. His brow furrows. ‘They’ll think I’m some dumb tart, who’s only fucking you to get a job or be looked after or something.’ She pulls the covers back over her head.

He tuts, shaking his head. ‘Do you think I believe that?’ The lump is silent before a whispered ‘no?’ reaches his ears, the connotations of the question sting his ears, so he sits up running a hand down the bulge in the sheets.

‘Of course not.’ he corrects, feeling her body quiver through the sheet. ‘And whoever suggests you are will answer to me’ The quivering stops, and her face reappears at his words. He bends down, his lips catching hers to silence any more doubts that plague her lips. 

She gasps into his mouth, manoeuvring her naked body across his, and rolling him so that he lay on top of her, her legs wrapped around his waist, his arms on her chest pushing her into the mattress. 

Misha reached down beneath them, running a finger upwards between her legs, her gasping into his shoulder as he immediately plunged his cock into her. He brought his face down to Helena’s again, kissing me deeply as his right hand came up between her legs and found her centre. Another gasp escaped her lips, as her free hand came up to brush against his chest, up his neck to catch his hair in her grasp, still wet and slick from the rain.

‘You’re so goddamn beautiful’ he muttered in her ear. His voice was low, gravelling, growling like his character on the show that brought them together. His hand continued to caress her, and she arched, her chest pressing into his.

His gorgeous eyes were locked onto her, the gaze overwhelming as she brought her face back up to meet his. Her hand moved upwards to cup his face, tracing the line of stubble that came down to his lips.

Her climax was building, as his fingers continued their skilful dance between her legs, small gasps and moans escaping both their lips. Her body tensed, breath quicking, and reading her body both his fingers and his hips gained speed, his hips slamming into hers and his teeth biting into his lip.

 

Her head was thrown backwards as she came, gasping his name and her hand clutching onto his free hand as one would clutch to a life raft.  . He must have been holding back, for he came immediately as well, his right hand squeezing her thigh, those eyes clenching tight and his body shuddering as he pulsed inside me. 

There was silence in the room except for their quickened breathing until a resounding thump came from the ceiling. Both sets of eyes shot upwards and their breath still for a moment.

‘Good on you girl’ a hoarse, gravelling voice came through the thin floor, causing both of them to begin chuckle madly. 

‘Thank you Mrs Gudry!’ she called back before settling her hand on Misha’s still creased up in laughter, but gorgeous face. He smiled up at her, before collapsing boneless back onto her chest.

Good on me she thought to herself.


End file.
